


Hooked

by Udunie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Anal Fisting, BDSM, Cock & Ball Torture, Fisting, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-10 15:46:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7851310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Udunie/pseuds/Udunie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The car stopped right by him, so he pushed himself away from the wall, walking up to it, licking his lips as he saw the window being lowered.</p><p>“Hey there,” he said. The first contact always felt awkward, no matter how many times he did it. But at least he knew that he would be A-okay once he was on his knees, sucking the guy like there was no tomorrow. </p><p>He was a bit taken aback when he saw the driver, because… well, the man was hot as burning. Older, around forty, with a goatee and eyes so blue they sent a shiver down his spine.</p><p>Stiles had the instinctive urge to back away. It didn’t add up. The guy oozed confidence, had money and was handsome. Absolutely no reason to hire a hooker, when anyone would have wept in joy to get on his dick.</p><p>“How much for a night?” he asked, giving Stiles a long, calculating look.</p><p>He should have just sent him away, he knew it. But the deadline on the rent was scratching at the back of his mind, not letting him think clearly.</p><p>Stiles bit his lip. Fuck it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DiscontentedWinter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiscontentedWinter/gifts).



> This is a gift for the lovely Lisa, I hope you will like it! (For some reason, AO3 did not recognize your username, sorry about that...)
> 
> Many thanks to my dear Emma, who always has my back <3

Stiles was having a slow night, only two blowjobs in as many hours, which was not ideal. Honestly, when he went into whoring, he thought it would be a lot more… exciting.

Okay, he might have been a bit naive, but well. He was twenty, he liked sex, he liked sucking cock, so doing it for money sounded like a good idea. The novelty rubbed off -  _ heh  _ \- after the first few months, but it wasn’t all bad; most of his customers were actually pretty decent. Some were closeted, some were just shy or not conventionally attractive... but he had good eyes, and always managed to spot the assholes and keep as far away as possible. Who knew all that exposure to Jackson would come in handy...

Unfortunately today was not a day when he wanted a slow night. Rent was due in a few days and he was still short on it with all the payments he made towards his tuition. Stiles might have been smart, but he was awful with money, and had the bad luck of only realizing that after he moved away and started Adult Life.

He could have asked for help from his dad, but he didn’t want to. Not when their house still had a mortgage on it. He had no time for a day job, not if he wanted to keep his grades up, so he did this instead. He was owning his sexuality, okay?

There was a car rounding the corner, slowing down as it went down the street. There weren’t many hookers out, because it was getting pretty cold, but Stiles didn’t mind. He wasn’t the type to get into mini shorts, prefering his usual jeans and converses with a plaid shirt. Those who didn’t like it could go fuck themselves.

As it got closer he could see that it was a black Camaro, a nice ride. Rich dude, probably.

The car stopped right by him, so he pushed himself away from the wall, walking up to it, licking his lips as he saw the window being lowered.

“Hey there,” he said. The first contact always felt awkward, no matter how many times he did it. But at least he knew that he would be A-okay once he was on his knees, sucking the guy like there was no tomorrow. 

He was a bit taken aback when he saw the driver, because… well, the man was hot as burning. Older, around forty, with a goatee and eyes so blue they sent a shiver down his spine.

Stiles had the instinctive urge to back away. It didn’t add up. The guy oozed confidence, had money and was handsome. Absolutely no reason to hire a hooker, when anyone would have wept with joy to get on his dick.

“How much for a night?” he asked, giving Stiles a long, calculating look.

He should have just sent him away, he knew it. But the deadline on the rent was scratching at the back of his mind, not letting him think clearly.

Stiles bit his lip. Fuck it.

“Five hundred.” he blurted out finally. “And I’m sending a picture of you to a friend, because - no offence - but you have some serious serial killer vibe going on,” If the john didn’t like it, he could just roll away in his awesome car.

The man raised an eyebrow but then shrugged.

“Take one of the plate too, and make it quick.”

***

**_im with this guy if i turn up dead 2morrow_** he texted, attaching the pictures.

**_dude_ ** Scott shot back, and Stiles muted his phone. 

Scott didn’t like him doing this. Not out of any moral shit, but just because he was a romantic, and he wanted Stiles to find Mr. One True Love. Whatever.

“What’s your name?” he asked once they were on the road. He didn’t expect a real name, but he needed something to call the guy.

He looked at Stiles from the corner of his eyes.

“I’m asking questions first. What are you okay with?”

Stiles frowned, but well, he was already here.

“Anal, oral, rimming, handjobs... everything, dude.”

He wasn’t picky. Sex was sex, and by now Stiles was pretty good at it. Awesome, even.

For some reason the guy smirked, like Stiles said something funny. He was kind of an asshole, but he didn’t look like he would balk without paying, so it was all good.

“So, that’s your repertoire?” he asked, eyes glinting in the light of the streetlamps.

What. Now Stiles was starting to feel a bit uncomfortable. And it made him prickly.

“Yeah? Dude, I’ve been doing this for almost a year now, okay? I know my way around a cock.”

The asshole hummed under his breath and stepped on the gas.

***

Stiles expected a lot of things, but he didn’t expect to end up in the fucking suburbs. It was obvious that the guy really meant the ‘whole night’ thing, because he bet there were no busses he could get home with until then. He started to worry when they left even the suburbs behind, the sleek car wroomming off onto a dirt road outside the city limits. There were trees on both sides, and he faintly recalled a forest being here.

He felt like he stepped into a slasher movie. He sent another text to Scott with his password the gps locator on his phone. Better safe than sorry.

The road ended right in front of a fucking mansion, in the middle of the damned woods. The building was huge and ominous looking with the lights off, but the guy pulled his keys out and just like that a spotlight flashed into life and the door of the big garage beside the house opened. There was another car - this one a red fucking porsche - and a harley in there, making Stiles salivate. Damn.

The john didn’t even wait for him, getting out as soon as he parked, and Stiles had to scramble to follow him. He was impressed. And kind of scared.

The mansion actually had a double staircase leading up the second floor, with red carpets on the hardwood and everything. Like a fairytale… or a classic horror.

“So,” Stiles started, but the guy wasn’t stopping, heading upstairs. He went after him, his belly doing all kinds of acrobatics to let him know what a bad idea this was. Which? Thanks, he already knew.

They went to the master bedroom - or what he assumed was the master bedroom. It was huge, bigger than their whole flat with a bed that was the size of Stiles room. It was a four poster bed, because  _ of course _ it was.

He was just about to open his mouth again when the john turned around, wallet in hand. He took out a couple of bills, holding them up for Stiles to see.

“Five hundred,” he said, putting them on the bedside table. “If, at any time during the night you say ‘red’ you may leave with that, no questions asked.”

“Even now?” Stiles asked, because that sounded like something he should be doing. ASAP.

The guy grinned.

“Yes... Now, this,” he said, pulling out even more notes, and seriously, who the hell walked around with that much cash? That was very irresponsible. “This is another five hundred, and you will get it if you stay until morning.”

Stiles felt his eyes bulging. One Thousand Dollars. That would… that would be enough to cover his share of the rent for a few months. Among other things. Like food. And netflix.

“What do you say?” the man asked, smirking at him like he already knew he won. “Want to try and earn it?”

Fuck it.

The john sat down on the edge of the bed, parting his thighs.

“Let’s start with a little a little warm up. Strip.”

Stiles swallowed. His usual customers were more in the quick in-and-out business, but that obviously wasn’t the case right now. The air felt hot against his skin as he pushed the shirt off his shoulders. Goosebumps were rising all over his arms from the way the man was watching him.

He pulled his shirt off next. He didn’t try to be sexy, honestly, he was never accused of being elegant in any way shape or form, and he had a feeling that he would just end up falling on his face if he tried anything fancy.

It didn’t seem to matter, the man was watching him, eyes intent and very blue.

He wasn’t attempting to show off, but the muscles in his belly still flexed under the weight of that gaze. His hands were shaking when he undid the buttons on his jeans, fingers twitchy and uncertain. Stiles closed his eyes for a second, reminding himself that he’d done this countless times, getting out of his clothes for a john. Nothing unusual at all.

He hesitated for a second at his socks, mostly because there was no way to get them off without looking like a dork, and the thought of that was enough to shake the tension in his shoulders.

“Good,” the man told him when he was finally completely naked, standing in the middle of the room. He was still dressed, and the contrast set something in Stiles on edge.

“Come here, I want to try that mouth of yours,” he said, but held his hand up the second Stiles took a step. “No, not like that.  _ Crawl _ .”

He froze, not knowing what to do. The words didn’t even make sense at first, and it wasn’t any better when they did. Crawl. 

His belly churned, but he didn’t know if it was terror or excitement. Yeah, he regularly got on his knees for a client, but it wasn’t the same. It didn’t feel like it.

Stiles hovered in place for a long moment, then took a long breath. He could do it. He was a strong, independent man. Right.

The lush carpet against his knees felt like a caress.

“That’s it,” the man said, his voice was low, like he didn’t want to spook him. 

Stiles wanted to think that the first step was the hardest, but it wasn’t true. Every single one felt like he was treading through water, his mind working against him. He desperately wanted to say something, to punch the tension in the face with a joke, but his throat was dry and his tongue sluggish and numb.

He let his head hang between his shoulders, not wanting to look up, too scared to see the expression on the man’s face. Too afraid of how it would make him feel.

Stiles knew he reached his destination when suddenly there were fingers in his hair, combing through the strands and digging into his scalp in a way that shot shocks down his spine. He was breathing heavy, even though it made no sense.

“Good boy,” the man said, and he had to close his eyes tight, wanted to close his ears too, but couldn’t.

The hand dropped from his head, leaving him cold, but then there was the sound of a zipper opening, so familiar but still strange as it echoed in the silence of the room.

Stiles kept his eyes closed until there was a finger under his chin, lifting his face.

The john’s cock was…  _ nice _ . It was long and thick. Not a monster, but definitely in the top ten in Stiles’ experience. Looking at it was good. He saw his fair share of dicks, and comparing this to all the ones he got up, close and personal with helped him stay confident. He knew how this was done. This was his job, damn it.

“You will only use your mouth,” the man told him. He pulled him up from all fours, taking Stiles’ hands and placing them on his thighs. They felt hot, even though the fabric of his pants.

“You won’t be able to speak, so you will have to signal me if you’re out. You can squeeze and push all you want, but if you need to get off me, you will have to pinch, understood?”

Stiles licked his lips. This close he could smell the man’s erection. It was a clean, musky scent and he couldn’t stop his own cock from jerking between his legs.

He nodded his head, eyes still glued to the dick in front of him, but the john wasn’t satisfied. He fisted a hand in Stiles’ hair and pulled his head back painfully.

“If I ask a direct question, I expect an answer,” he said, voice low but not threatening. Stiles blinked, brain dizzy.

“Yeah.”

The man smiled.

“Good. Now show me what that mouth is good for, boy.”

Stiles huffed out a breath, centering himself. This was good. He knew that his mouth was his strongest selling point for some reason. It was a bit weird without his hands to guide him, but he licked around the head of the cock in front of him, playing with the rim and sucking a little kiss to the very tip. He didn’t know how the guy liked it, he was completely - unnervingly - silent. He made himself not care. This was his forte, okay?

He ran his lips down the underside of it, leaving a wet trail of saliva behind before he pulled back up and took half of it in his mouth. Yeah, it was bigger than his usuals, but not an impossible feat. Stiles wasn’t one of those hookers who boasted about not having a gag reflex, but he could still deepthroat, and he came to realize that most guys actually liked a little choking. He hoped this john wouldn’t be any different.

He was noisy. Maybe he always was when giving head, but somehow everything was louder now. His mouth was making all kinds of slurpy, wet noises. There was a drop of saliva running down his chin as he started bobbing his head. Normally he would have wiped it away, but now he just let it cling to his skin. 

His cock was hurting from how hard he was.

Stiles kept himself going for minutes. Most guys were usually finished by now, but this one… This one barely seemed affected, and it was driving him crazy.

He was on the verge of pulling off and asking him what the hell his problem was when he felt a hand on the back of his head.

“I do enjoy a nice, sloppy blowjob,” he said, voice smooth. “But I prefer things with a bit… more edge.”

Stiles had no idea what that meant, so he just kept doing his thing. Except the next time he went down - he was about two thirds of the way on the man’s cock - the hand on his head tightened into a fist and  _ pushed _ .

His eyes immediately watered as that thick head slid deeper and deeper into his throat, rubbing up along the vulnerable parts of him until his air was completely cut off. 

Stiles tried pushing away, but it was no use, the man kept him down for a few long, torturous seconds before letting him back off. Stiles sucked in huge, shaky breaths, lungs burning, but before he could get enough he was being forced down again, swallowing convulsively around the intrusion.

His head was going fuzzy around the edge, his blood loud in his ears as he tried not to choke. It was hard. It took him a second to realize that the man was talking.

“That’s it, boy. Just like that. Use your tongue, because unlike you, I could do this all night.”

Stiles squeezed his eyes together and did as he was told, the simple act of obedience forcing out a drop of precome from this heavy, neglected cock.

When his nose touched the man’s belly he sneaked his tongue out, rubbing it against the base of that fat cock. The john groaned and the sound of it filled him with victory. He doubled his efforts, not fighting the guy anymore, but letting his head be pushed and pulled, like a cheap cocksleave.

The more he gave up resistance, the headier it became. Stiles tried to convince himself that it was just the lack of oxygen that was making him feel drunk and giddy, but… He moaned, loud but stifled by the cock blocking his air, but he couldn’t have stopped himself for the word.

When the man finally came, Stiles almost went off too. 

That had never happened before. It was rare enough for him to get off on the job, but the second he felt that warm, bitter splash against the back of his throat his eyes rolled back with pleasure. His cock jerked, and he knew that a single trace of a finger would be enough to push him over.

Of course, it never came, so when the man pulled him off his softening cock Stiles was left reeling, confused and wanting something he didn’t know existed.

The john wiped a drop of come from the corner of his mouth and fed it to him, rubbing the inside of his lips with the pad of his thumb.

“Well done, boy. For the rest of the night you may call me ‘Sir.’”

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank to my lovely Emma for the hard work! (also, the first chapter had been cleared up a bit, sorry about that, folks!)
> 
> Also, this chapter contains a link to a nsfw picture - as visual aid!

“Huh?”

The man smiled at him, patting his face.

“You will call me ‘Sir’,” he said, with a bit more emphasis. 

That was weird, right? It sounded weird. He tried to turn the word around in his head, but all his capacity was hogged by the need to come. He would have time to wonder about names later.

Except that before he could get his hands on his own - desperately weeping - cock, the man grabbed his wrist, so fast that Stiles didn't even see him move.

“What?” he knew he was whining, but he didn’t care. He wanted to get off, damn it.

He couldn’t pull his hand free - the guy was holding him tight - and it made him angry. 

“Let go of me, asshole,” he growled. He guessed he wasn’t very intimidating; kneeling naked between a dressed man’s legs, the tang of come still lingering on his tongue.

Stiles struggled. For some reason it was gravely important to jerk off, and even he understood that it was about much more than getting an orgasm.

He tried throwing the guy off, but he couldn’t. The man was strong, stronger than he looked and he easily wrestled Stiles onto the bed, holding his hands above his head and pushing down on him with his own body until Stiles couldn’t move.

He might have been crying a little. It was confusing. Everything was confusing.

He just… he just wanted a bit of…  _ control _ .

His nipples were hard as the man’s dress shirt rubbed against them, peaked and sensitive. The john was careful not to rub against his crotch, not to let him get off even on that awkward point contact.

Stiles didn’t understand anything.

“Let… l-let me go!”

“Hush. Calm down, boy. You will come, but only when I let you,” he said. He didn’t even sound out of breath.

It took a few minutes - because no one ever calmed down just by being told to - but with that heavy body blanketing him, and those hands circling his wrists Stiles’ heart slowed back to normal. It felt like he almost had a panic attack. What the fuck.

But the man wasn’t hurting him. Sure, he was holding him down, and Stiles had no way to escape, pinned to the bed like a butterfly in a glass case, but he wasn’t getting hurt. That seemed important.

“That’s right. Deep breaths, boy.”

Even his need to come receded, going from ‘I will  _ die’  _ to  _ ‘please’ _ . Not like he could say the word. Begging… that was something he wasn’t ready to do.

The john sat up slowly, keeping his sharp, blue gaze trained on Stiles’ face, looking for any sign of trouble. But he was too tired to put up any more of a fight… he already knew he lost.

“Good,” he said, smiling. He let Stiles’ wrists go, swiping away the almost dry tears on his face. It was such an intimate touch that he had to close his eyes.

Stiles swallowed, his throat burning from the rough blowjob. A part of him relished the reminder.

“Do you remember what I told you?” 

Stiles opened his eyes, his lids feeling heavy as he blinked up at the man.

“What do you call me, boy?”

He licked his lips. His brain didn’t want to form the word, but the heat in his belly wanted to see how it sounded rolling off his tongue. Stiles always went his guts in the end.

“Sir.”

The man smiled, sharp and handsome. He was really good looking, even with the small wrinkles in the corners of his eyes.

“That’s it. Now, are you ready to continue?”

Stiles nodded.

The john lifted an eyebrow, not moving off him. 

“Um. Yeah?”

The eyebrow stayed, inching impossibly higher. Oh.

“Yes, sir.”

***

There was a curtain on one of the walls. At first Stiles thought it was just a regular window, but then he remembered, that it wasn’t an outer wall. The man pulled the curtain away, revealing some kind of an… installation?

Stiles had no idea what he was looking at. A big square of the wall was padded with red leather, from above it there were black leather straps hanging down.

“This is  [ a kind of sling ](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-zdciDUWHtP4/V73N3CtbYJI/AAAAAAAABnw/9v8btMiiwrQSsobiIFMuZuwmZRFTgpb1gCL0B/w512-h384-no/2016-08-24.jpg) ,” the man explained, smirking a bit at the puzzlement on Stiles’ face.

That made even less sense, if possible.

“Come on, I will help you on.”

He waved Stiles closer, making him stand in front of the padded wall, facing away from it. He pulled Stiles’ hands up above his head, showing him the short loops that served as handholds.

“Grab onto those and don’t let go,” he said, and Stiles obeyed without thinking. He was feeling nervous all of a sudden.

“Good.” He stepped close, fiddling with something behind Stiles back, and then before he could so much as yelp, he was lifted off his feet and put on a narrow, cushioned seat. It didn’t go under his butt, but more closer to his back, so he would have slid right off if the man didn’t hold his legs up.

“I’m gonna fall,” Stiles said in a bit of a panic. It wasn’t very high, but still.

“No, you won’t,” the man said. He pulled another loop forward. This was longer and he easily slid Stiles’ foot into it, then did the same on his other side.

He ended up suspended in the air with his upper back resting against the padded wall, holding himself with his hands on the holds and his feet in the stirrups. Most of his weight was on the belt under the small of his back though, so it didn’t take much effort at all.

It was almost comfortable, if he didn’t count the nervous twitch in his brain that tried to tell him that he could fall any moment.

“All good? Do you feel strain anywhere?” the man asked, looking at him critically.

Stiles shook his head, then remembered.

“Nope. Um… Sir.”

The man nodded and walked away, rummaging in the bedside table. The second he wasn’t looking at him Stiles was breathing a bit easier.

“You know, you could have just fucked me on my back, like normal people,” he said, trying to grasp on to the simple act of talking. His head was being weird, full of want, even though he didn’t know  _ what  _ he wanted.

The man hummed. He turned around, walking back with an industrial sized bottle of lube. The sight of it made Stiles’ mouth run dry.

“Okay, I know you have a nice cock, but you’re not that big,” he babbled, just to… to do something. The man smacked his ass, making him yelp.

“I don’t mind your mouth running, but I expect you to follow the rules.”

Stiles’ heart skipped a beat. Rules. Something about that word was intimidating, even though he never really concerned himself with such things before.

Still, he licked his lips, trying again.

“You’re not that big,  _ sir _ . And also, you kind of just came… Unless you have a bucketful of viagra stashed somewhere...”

The man actually laughed.

“That is a correct observation. But it doesn’t mean we can’t play.”

He squirted some lube on his fingers. Stiles didn’t know the brand, it looked stickier than what he usually carried.

He bit his lip at the first touch against his hole. The guy knew what he was doing, smearing the lube around and massaging the ring with the pad of his thumb. His fingers were warm.

“Have you fucked today?”

“No, sir,” Stiles said, the title slipping from between his lips easier with every use.

He didn’t know why, but suddenly he was grateful for the slow night he had, he didn’t… he didn’t want this man to see his hole loose from someone else’s cock. Stiles closed his eyes, wanting to chase the thought away. He was a whore, for god’s sake.

“Excellent.”

He pushed a finger in deep, testing the waters.

“I assume you cleaned yourself before your shift.” 

It wasn’t really a question, so Stiles just kept his eyes closed, letting himself sink into the familiar feeling of being fingered. His johns usually didn’t bother with much foreplay, and he had to stretch himself most of the time. It felt good to have someone else do it for a change.

Sir was very good with his fingers. He quickly worked three of them in, scissoring and pumping them in and out. There was a slight stretch, but it wasn’t anything Stiles haven’t felt before. His ass felt warm and pliant, opening up easily.

“You are doing very good, boy,” the man said quietly, like he didn’t want to break the moment, but had to let Stiles know anyway. It made him smile a bit.

“It’s my job, sir,” Stiles said. He didn’t think the guy needed the reminder, but he… he did. 

“Point,” he said, pulling back. Stiles squeezed his eyes shut tighter, not wanting to show how upsetting the loss was, but he didn’t have to wait long for them to return.

He gasped, eyes snapping open when he felt four fingers at his entrance. There was really no need for that. He could take nearly anything with three.

“I…” the breath was stuck in his chest as the man slowly pushed inside, tucking his pinky in with the others and just… pressing.

“You remember your word, my boy?” he asked. Stiles had to rake his brain for a few seconds to get what he was talking about, head too blurry from the pressure building in his hole.

“You… I… you mean, t-that primary color that’s not yellow or…  _ fuck _ . Blue?”

Sir chuckled. It felt like the sound traveled down his arm, straight to the very tip of his fingers buried in Stiles.

“That’s the one. You may cry and scream and tell me no, but I will only stop if you say that, understood?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

***

“No… please, I can’t… sir…  _ sir _ , please,” Stiles begged, everything feeling too big, his skin too tight, stretching over feverish muscles and sharp bones. He couldn’t. He just.

There were five fingers in his ass with the widest part of Sir’s hand pushing against his puffy, overused hole. And he couldn’t do it. It wasn’t possible.

“You are doing so well, my boy. You’re beautiful. I need you to relax, just a bit and it’s in.”

Stiles sobbed, chest heaving. His arms were going sore holding onto the leather, just the effort to keep himself balanced exhausting. He had no idea how long they were at it, it felt like forever. His cock was half hard, laying against his belly, but still jerking from time to time.

“I c-can’t.”

“Of course you can. Take a deep breath for me.”

Stiles did, obedience coming from him like it was the natural order of his existence. The air hitched in his throat and then he moaned, long and desperate as Sir lay a hand on his chest and  _ pushed _ .

When it went in… when his whole hand went in, Stiles thought he blacked out for a second, eyes rolling back. It hurt, a dull, burning throb to the rhythm of his heart that echoed through his body.

Sir didn’t move when he was finally in, he stayed completely still, and that might have been the only thing keeping Stiles from flying apart like a vase dropped from too high.

The hand on his chest holding him in place gentled, caressing his sweaty skin and sending shivers down his spine.

“Amazing. You did wonderfully, my boy… I’m all inside you now.”

Yeah. Stiles’ brain was foggy, struggling to understand the waring sensations battling across his nerve endings. He was so full. He was going to die.

“No, you won't. I wouldn't let you,” Sir said with certainty. And that was enough. For now.

Stiles whined when he started pulling back, his knuckles stretching his rim from the inside.

“No, no, don’t move, please, sir!”

“Shh, you will love it, I promise. It will be easier now.”

Stiles didn’t have enough strength left to object. Sir pulled back slowly, letting the thickest part of his hand slip free and just rest against his hole before he pushed in again.

He was right. It was easier, the pain was receding, the throbbing sensation as his body was chased to the edge filling with something that wasn’t exactly pleasure, but was dangerously close to it.

Stiles’ cock was jerking, jumping against belly and squirting out drops of precome. It slid down his side, pattering against the hardwood floor.

It was a gradual change, but Sir was picking up the pace, going deeper and faster with each thrust of his hand, until Stiles’ ass opened completely. Every single muscle in his body was going lax, accepting the man, like he belonged there, punching his fist into Stiles’ willing body.

The noises his hole made, slurping and hungry were getting loud in the empty room, louder than his soft crying. He didn’t even know why he was crying anymore, his brain had shut down, thoughts quieting and slipping away.

His heart beated to the rhythm of that fist going in and out of his ass. His eyes were blurry as he stared between his legs, looking at Sir’s strong arm pistoling into him. When did he roll his sleeve up? He didn’t know. It didn’t matter.

The only thing that mattered was the steady push and pull, prying his body wide open.

Sir was talking but Stiles didn’t hear any of it, too caught up in feeling everything and nothing at the same time.

Sir twisted his arm, letting his knuckles brush over his prostate with every thrust, making his head roll back, bounce on the padding behind him. Stiles knew his mouth was open, that he was sobbing and panting and maybe screaming, but he didn’t hear it. 

When he came, it was an explosion. His cock was almost completely soft, but it didn’t seem to matter to the pleasure that bubbled up from deep inside him. It’s never felt like that before, like he wasn’t just coming, but his whole being was rushing to the surface, breaking out of his body like a force of nature.

Everything was white and bright and blinding, and he rode on it, letting it carry him away from the room, from reality. He could feel it in the distance, Sir going on, pushing and pushing and pushing, forcing his body to spurt out every little drop of his release, squeezing him dry…

It was good. It was amazing and then it was torture. He was sucked back into his body, pulled on a hook lodged under his navel and then the brightness on the edge of his vision changed, got painful, turned to…  _ red _ .

***

“I’ve got you,” someone said. He was close, plastered against Stiles, holding him tight as he tried to make him let go. His fingers were locked around something, his grip white and unyielding. It was important to hold on. He’d been told that.

“Shh, it’s okay. You have to release it, my boy.”

Boy. The word felt like a caress, even though he hadn’t been a boy for a long time.

His fingers uncurled.

“That’s right. Now the other one.”

When he let go he expected to fall. It didn’t happen. He floated. Or it felt like he did, even with someone’s arms holding him up.

Stiles ducked his head, he felt small and vulnerable and… brittle.

There was a bed under him suddenly. It was too soft and too big and he didn’t want to be alone on it. His hands grasped after the warm body that was so close just a second ago. He almost cried in relief when it returned - naked, this time - and pressed close.

“You’re alright. You were amazing.”

That was Sir’s voice, wasn’t it. His brain was sluggish and empty, echoing with half-formed thoughts that made little sense.

“Sir,” he said, mouth dry.

“It’s Peter,” Sir said, his lips hot and soft against his own, the name felt like a secret between them, and maybe, just maybe Stiles would get to keep it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun-dun-dun! I bet you guys didn't expect me update again so soon! :D
> 
> Well, guess what? The amazing Emma and I did it again, so here you go! I hope you're going to enjoy it!

Stiles shouldn’t have gone out working, not with all that money in his pocket.

He managed to stay on his ass for a week, the whole time being itchy and restless, even after his bottom stopped feeling tender and sensitive. Scott kept asking him about what was wrong, about where he got the money that suddenly solved their short term problems. He might not have liked Stiles working on the streets, but even he knew that coming home with a thousand bucks in cash was not normal.

He didn’t tell him.

***

It was stupid. He was out on the street for all the wrong reasons, and the knew it. He didn’t need the money. He didn’t even want the sex.

He needed to feel, to not think about that guy -  _ Peter  _ \- to stop fucking dreaming about being so completely blown out of his mind.

Stiles picked the first john that glanced his way, even with all his instincts screaming at him that it was a bad apple. Maybe that’s exactly why he chose that one… to lose control.

***

He ended up getting a lot of things for his trouble;

A pair of skinned knees.

A split lip.

A black eye.

An empty bottle of pepper spray - he would have to buy a new one of that.

And probably enough experience points that he would have jumped a couple of levels if this was game. Shame that it wasn’t.

***

He lay off work for a few days. He went to his classes, then back to the apartment. Over and over.

When he finally had enough of staring at the same four walls he packed his books and got into the jeep, driving around for a while. He ended up in a faintly familiar block of the suburbs. It wasn’t fair, he didn’t even know that he remembered the way.

Stiles chickened out, stopping at a small cafe. He didn’t want to find the road leading outside of the city limits and into the woods. He didn’t.

It was a nice little shop actually; the chairs were comfortable and there weren’t too many people. He ordered a latte and studied, like that was the only reason he came here.

For three days in a row, Stiles ended up in the cafe in the suburbs every afternoon, no matter where he planned to go when he got in his car.

***

He was distantly aware that someone was standing behind him, reading over his shoulder. Normally it would have bugged the hell out of him, but well. He was kind of fixated on the practice test in front of him. Criminal law was the absolute worst and currently one of the few obstacles in his way to become a criminologist.

“Hm… Good thinking, but that will never hold up in court,” said a voice, making him freeze. Stiles sucked in a sharp breath, fingers going numb.

The pencil he was holding rolled out of his hand, all the way across the desk and clattered to the floor.

The back of his neck was prickling and he couldn’t have moved if he tried. He didn’t though, some prey instinct telling him to play dead. Like those funny fainting goats on youtube.

Peter walked around him and pulled the opposite chair.

There was a second of silence. Stiles still hadn’t looked up and it was getting awkward. He should at least get his pen, shouldn’t he?

Except the man’s gaze was heavy, weighing his body down. He just knew that Peter was examining his face. The faint line on his split lip, the yellowish leftovers of the bruising around his eye. He waited for the question but it never came.

“You come here often?” he asked instead, leaning back, like they were vague acquaintances who just happened to be in the same place at the same time.

Stiles closed his eyes. His heart was beating too quick, breath too shallow. He shouldn’t be here. He didn’t even know  _ why  _ he was here. It had been a stupid idea - not the first one he made recently - and now he had to pay the price.

Peter huffed out a breath, he leaned down and picked up the pencil from right beside Stiles’ dirty sneakers. Their eyes caught for a second as he straightened out. He put the pencil on the table and stood.

“Well, I should leave you to it,” he said. He didn’t sound disappointed, not even annoyed. Just careful, like he was backing away from a cornered animal.

Stiles grabbed the hem of his suit as he tried to pass and couldn’t made his fingers uncurl.

“Hi,” is what he said and he wanted to smack himself in the face.

Thankfully, Peter stopped.

“Hello,” he said. He took hold of Stiles’ wrist where it was clinging to him. “Want to drive around for a bit?”

Stiles cleared his throat.

“Yeah.”

***

The Camaro was just as fancy as he remembered. It was a really nice car, and for a few seconds it took his mind off the jumble of feelings tangled in his head.

Peter didn’t try to… to interrogate him, just did as he said, and drove around. The streets were quiet, almost idyllic, and Stiles wanted to laugh when he thought about how he got an arm shoved in his ass just a few minutes from here.

“What do you need?” the man asked finally. He kept his eyes on the road, but Stiles still felt his attention on him.

They hadn’t talked afterwards. Stiles’ sleeping schedule was all fucked up from ADHD and whoring, so he’d woken up at three AM and snuked out with his money, sore and shaken. Maybe that had been a mistake too. At least the Uber driver picking him up had enough decency not to comment on him trembling like a junky on the backseat.

His fingers were fiddling with the straps of his backpack. It was pretty worn, it didn’t belong in a car like this. He didn’t either.

“Do you do that with all the whores you pick up?” he asked. His voice sounded colder than he intended and he wanted to take it back immediately. Peter’s mouth quirked, but it wasn’t really a smile.

“Some. It’s not something I do a lot - picking up prostitutes for this.”

“So, what? I was  _ special _ ?” 

Why the hell was he so bitter suddenly? The bruise around his eye hurt.

Peter didn’t reply for a long moment. He turned down another street. They all looked the same for Stiles.

“Will you be spooked if I say yes?”

Stiles bit his lip, wincing. He always forgot about the split there.

“Is this some Pretty Woman bullshit? I don’t need saving, you know… I’m just. Working through things. A lot of things.”

Peter did smile.

“No it isn’t. I don’t remember Julia Roberts doing what you did,” he said. It was a casual reminder, but it still made Stiles’ body break out in goosebumps. He… couldn’t decide how he felt about that. About what Peter did. And not just the fisting stuff, but the rest too; holding him down, ordering him around…

“But the question is,” he continued, “Are you actually working through things or just panicking and going around in circles?”

Stiles turned his head to the window. That wasn’t fair. That was an unfair question.

Peter pulled to a slow stop in the empty parking lot of a closed BlockBusters. 

“Hey, look at me.”

And Stiles? Stiles couldn’t resist that voice. Not when he spent his dreams obeying it.

Peter looked serious, but there was no pity or condescension in his eyes.

“I will be honest with you. What you did that night? That’s not something anybody can do. Well, no. It is physically possible to do it, but you need a certain talent to  _ take  _ it.”

Stiles swallowed. He didn’t know what to with that information.

“Hey, guess I’m a good whore or something,” he blurted out. Peter raised an eyebrow.

“That is not what I said, don’t twist my words. You have a… a disposition, okay? And I would hate it if I’ve somehow ruined that for you.”

Stiles brain chugged, chasing his tired thoughts around. That word didn’t sit right with him.

“A disposition? That sounds like the prelude to a tragic diagnosis,” he said, only half joking. Like, dementia for example.

Peter actually had the gall to roll his eyes.

“ _ Submission _ . What I’m trying to say is that you’re a natural submissive,” he explained finally, sounding a bit exasperated.

It was a bit like being punched, and he understood why Peter danced around the expression. It sounded bad… It wasn’t something a normal person liked to hear about himself.

But at the same time, it made his belly tense with nervous anticipation. It felt right.

Maybe Stiles wasn’t such a normal person afterall.

Peter was looking at him, and he knew that he should say something. Like, right now.

“Well, I’m not running away,” he said, because at least that was the truth.

The man smiled.

“I can see that, but I can also see that you’re terrified.”

Stiles did laugh then. It bubbled out of him like toxic waste.

“Yeah? Is that surprising? I… What the hell am I supposed to do now?! You… I’m going crazy, okay? Everything got weird. Work is weird. Studying is weird. Sleeping is weird, and let me tell you, I need sleep, I have a serious deficit and it’s making me do some really stupid shit,” he said. He knew he was babbling, but Peter didn’t mind it the last time, he could take it now too.

He went silent when the man reached out, lightly running his thumb over the yellowing bruise.

“Stupid shit like looking for trouble?” he asked, voice soft.

Stiles closed his eyes, licking his lips absentmindedly.

“Yeah.” His voice was going all croaky all of a sudden. “And hanging out in coffee shops I have no business being in.”

Peter clucked his tongue, taking his hand away. Stiles immediately missed the warmth of it.

“I don’t think that was stupid at all. Do you want to come over?”

Stiles blinked his eyes open, feeling uncertain. He wasn’t on the job now. He didn’t know what Peter  _ meant _ .

“I don’t want to pay you,” the man said. Maybe it should have made him sound like a douchebag, but instead Stiles breathed a sigh of relief.

“Okay.”

***

He didn’t know what to expect when they arrived at Peter’s house. It was slightly less intimidating in the daylight, but still imposing. The Harley was in the same spot, so was the Porsche.

He wasn’t led to bedroom this time around, and he didn’t know if he was relieved or disappointed. Probably a bit of both.

Peter’s kitchen was enormous. There was a huge dining table right next to it, big enough to seat at least eight people, but it didn’t look used. The table in their flat was covered in scratches and unidentifiable discolorations.

“Alright. Let me see that homework of yours before you blow the whole case by badly filed paperwork on the crown evidence,” he said, startling a laugh out of Stiles.

“I don’t think you’re qualified enough to make a statement like that,” he said, but he was already pulling his paper out, sticking the end of his pencil in his mouth to chew on.

Peter raised an eyebrow.

“I will let you know that you’re talking to a senior partner in Hale&Hale Consulting. You might have heard of us, seeing as the law building at your college is named after my sister,” he said haughtily.

Well fuck.

***

By the time he was writing the closing sentence on his paper, Siles was beat. Peter was satisfied at least, taking their glasses to the sink while he finished - so that was a plus. The damned guy didn’t help so much as picked his case apart several times until Stiles finally got it right.

It had been great, actually.

“Finished?” Peter asked, putting a warm hand on the back of his neck as he came back from the kitchen.

Stiles felt his skin heat up under his touch.

“Yeah,” he said, putting his pen down. He didn’t move, not wanting the contact to end.

“Want to wind down a bit?” 

He could feel the weight of the question in the pit of his stomach. He knew that Peter would let him go right now if he asked. Maybe he should go. But he didn’t want to.

Stiles nodded his head and Peter’s fingers tightened on his nape.

“We talked about this, haven’t we?” 

The shift in the situation was subtle but unmistakable. He closed his eyes.

“Yes, Sir.”

He didn’t see Peter’s face but the  _ knew  _ he was smiling.

“Good boy, come.”

Stiles got up on shaky legs, eyes skitting around and not meeting Peter’s.

“You can keep your gaze on the floor if it’s more comfortable,” he said, because _ of course  _ he noticed.

He was led to the living room. It was just as oversized as the rest of the house. If Stiles hadn’t seen Peter’s cock with his own eyes, he would have thought that he was overcompensating for something.

There was a huge leather armchair in there, and Peter sat down, leaving Stiles standing in the middle.

“Strip,” he said simply.

Stiles did, fingers shaky with anticipation. This. This feeling was what he’d been looking for ever since their night together; the certainty that Peter was in charge, that he knew what was happening and had perfect control of it.

Stiles got out of his clothes as quickly as he could, stalling for a second. His knees looked pretty bad, all scabbed over from his little adventure. Peter didn’t say a word when he saw them.

He shifted from foot to foot for a long moment, waiting for instructions. His cock was already filling.

“Alright. Come here,” Peter said, after he had his fill looking at Stiles. He unbuttoned his pants, pulling his zipper down. 

His cock looked so good, big and fat as he pulled it out that Stiles’ mouth flooded with saliva. He almost dropped to his knees, but Sir held up a hand.

“No kneeling for you today, boy. There are condoms and lube in the coffee table.” 

Stiles got them from the small drawer and handed them over, stopping between Peter’s legs. 

“Turn around for me,” he said, and Stiles did, fingers twitching by his side.

He could hear the wrapper of a condom being torn. The the cap of the lube snapping.

Stiles was shaking by the time Peter’s fingers pushed between his asscheeks, searching out his hole. He shuddered at the first touch, but then his spine turned liquid, his body opening it up like Sir had the only key to him.

He made quick work of stretching Stiles, - only three fingers this time, thankfully - and then grabbed his hips, pulling him down slowly. His cock slipped inside without resistance as he sat down, filling him like it belonged there.

Sir kept his hand around Stiles’ middle for a moment, letting him adjust, even though it wasn’t really needed. Still, the courtesy was appreciated.

Peter shifted around until they were both comfortable.

When he spoke, it was right into Stiles’ ear.

“Put your hands on the armrest. I expect you to keep them there. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir,” he replied, voice quiet and hoarse. Barely more than a whisper, really.

Sir let go of his middle, running his palms down Stiles’ body, from his pecs to the inside on his thighs, sending him shivering.

“Do you remember your word?”

Stiles swallowed, worrying his burst lip.

“Red.”

“Yes, very good. Here’s how this will go: you will not get to come before I do, but you have to get me off without moving,” he said.

“Huh? H-how am I supposed to…”

Peter pinched his right nipple, the twinge of pain travelling down his spine and making his hole constrict around the cock filling him. Oh.

“You will have to work hard, but I will help. I know you can do it, boy.”

Stiles wasn’t so certain, but for now Peter seemed sure enough for the both of them.

He tried, squeezing his ass around Sir’s cock. It felt good. Too good. He was going to come in no time.

Sir kept stroking him all over, his hands gentle and teasing. It was infuriating.

“Ah… I don’t know…”

Sir grabbed his cock, giving it a quick up and down rub, tight enough to make his body size up. He hummed in Stiles’ ear.

“Just try.”

He did, closing his eyes and just concentrating on his hole. His rim was fluttering around the cock that was staying so maddeningly still inside him. He wanted friction, damn it.

Peter did it again, giving his dick an almost violent jerk. Too much. He was going to…

Sir clicked his tongue, his strong fingers encircling the base of his cock and squeezed. Stiles gave a startled shout, the need to come receding from the sudden pain.

“I said no coming before me.”

***

Stiles was crying. Every inch of his skin was on fire, nerve endings firing off signal after signal until his brain could do nothing with them.

“Please, please, Sir,” he sounded pathetic. He didn’t care, “I need… I need to come.”

Sir huffed out an amused breath, even that small puff of air against the shell of his ear was like torture.

“I do love how pretty you beg, but no.”

Stiles sobbed harder. His hole was exhausted, the muscles too overworked to do what he wanted.

“I know you  _ want  _ to come, but what you  _ need  _ to do is make me come. Come on, boy, you’re doing so well, it’s not that hard.”

He kept one hand around the base of Stiles’ cock to squeeze his orgasm off whenever it was approaching, and his other hand was… was working his body over, finding new ways to make him twitch.

It traveled low now, rolling Stiles’ balls between his fingers before tugging on his sack sharply. Stiles screamed. His body tightened. Sir moaned.

“That’s it, boy. Do you need more of that? I could pull your balls right off and you would love it, wouldn’t you,” he whispered, making him shudder. No he didn’t. He didn’t like it when it hurt. Maybe a bit. Too much.

His hole convulsed in anticipation as Sir played with his testes. He knew that the pain was coming. He couldn’t wait.

“Please…” he didn’t even know what he was begging for anymore.

Sir did it again, tugging once, twice, three times, squeezing his balls and twisting.

Stiles threw his head back, letting it fall on Sir’s shoulder. His hands twitched on the handrest.

“Just like that,” Sir said. His voice was rough. He must have been close. Stiles hoped. Desperately.

The hand left his sack and traveled upwards, over his belly and to his nipple. He didn’t look down, but Stiles knew they were hard and reddened, puffy from all the abuse. They tingled just from the knowledge of what was coming.

“Which one should it be?” Sir asked. Stiles rolled his head from side to side. He didn’t even… He didn’t even know which side was which, so he moaned instead. His ass flexed.

“Hm… I will have to choose then.”

Sir dug his fingers into the tender skin of his nipple, his nails biting. His other hand tightened around Stiles’ cock just in time to stop him from coming. He still screamed, feeling so close that he could almost taste it on his tongue.

Sir jerked under him, the way his ass convulsed from the delicious shock of pure hurt too much even for his self control. It gave Stiles a bit of hope, and he tried, willing his hole to constrict, to milk the heavy, pulsing cock buried in it.

He almost couldn’t believe it when it finally happened. His body was so oversensitive, so attuned to everything Sir did that he could actually feel it, feel the dick in him jerk, the condom filling with his release.

He sobbed in relief, body going lax, waiting for it to end, waiting for his own turn. Sir panted into his ear, riding out his pleasure. His fingers were almost bruising around Stiles’ cock, and then relaxed.

He hugged Stiles’ belly.

“Wonderful job, my boy, you may come now.”

He caressed the underside of Stiles’ dick with a single finger and that was all it took. The world shattered into a million pieces and he broke apart along with it.

***

Stiles got an A on his law paper. 

Peter was the first one he texted about it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo-hoo! This is the last chapter guys, I hope you had as much fun as I did!
> 
> As always, thank you Emma for helping me along! <3

Scott always thought that being in a relationship was so fucking simple. Maybe for him it was. He saw someone and fell in love and they lived happily ever after.

For Stiles it was different. He had been in love before, he was sure, even though sometimes he doubted how serious his feelings for Lydia had been. But the point was, in his experience love was full of struggles and was as straightforward as a mirror castle.

He wasn’t even sure that he was in love now. Oh, a part of him was certain, but he didn’t know if he… if he wanted it. Peter was a dark horse, and sometimes it felt like all the secrets of the universe were at his fingertips, and he was just waiting to unleash them on Stiles.

They didn’t meet too often. Peter was a busy man and Stiles was a college student. Their schedules didn’t exactly align.

There was one thing that was both pro and con to being in love with Peter.

He never told Stiles to stop doing his job. On one hand, it felt like he would do that if he cared, wouldn’t he? On the other, Stiles would have sent him straight to hell if he did.

His life was a mess.

***

Stiles was just getting out of the car of a john when his phone rang. It was Peter. He checked the time - half past eleven, that was pretty late for normal people.

“Hey,” he said, walking back to his spot by the wall. He had enough practice not to walk funny. Though for once he got a really good pounding.

“Hello, Stiles. I just got home, was wondering if you wanted to come over,” Peter told him. Stiles could hear him wander around, his steps echoing on the hardwood.

He was tempted. But not tempted enough.

“I’m working,” he said, going for casual. Sure, Peter didn’t try to forbid him from doing it, but they hadn’t actually had a heartfelt conversation about his job. Stiles constantly felt like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Is that so?” he couldn’t read the man’s voice. “How is it going?”

Stiles steeled himself.

“Fine, actually. Had two good fucks already, I’m gonna be sore tomorrow.”

He held his breath, annoyed at how nervous he was.

Peter hummed.

“I imagine. One of these days you should come over right after and let me see. I like it when your hole gets all puffy with use.”

Stiles swallowed, mouth running dry.

“Really?” his voice sounded smaller than it was supposed to.

Peter huffed out a laugh, Stiles could almost feel it against his ear through the phone.

“My boy, I’m not the boss of you,” he said, the word sending a shiver down Stiles spine. “Not in this, not when you don’t need me to.”

Stiles blinked against the light of the streetlamp overhead.

“Yeah, okay, I’ll come over.”

“Excellent.”

***

The jeep rattled his bones on the dirt road to the house. He haven’t been back since the coffee shop. They met up once, for lunch and talked and texted, but haven’t really had time for more.

Today was Saturday. He wasn’t sure about Peter but he had nothing planned tomorrow… His brain immediately jumped to them spending the night - and maybe the entirety of Sunday - together. He wanted to know if Peter cooked. He wanted to know what he looked like just out of bed. Was he even a morning person?

He shook himself as he parked. That was stupid. He didn’t care.

Peter was already standing in the door by the time he walked up to it. It was a bit awkward, he didn’t know what to do. For all the sex he had for money, Stiles was never actually in a relationship before. He didn’t even know if this was a relationship or not.

He didn’t have time to panic, because Peter was pulling him in and kissing him senseless. Stiles grabbed the front of his shirt and held on for dear life as the man pulled him close, hands going for his ass and squeezing down. Stiles made a noise that was between a hiss and a moan. He really was sore.

He was out of breath and dazed when Peter let go of him, just looking at him dumbly.

“Hello,” the man said, smiling.

“Hi,” Stiles greeted. Wow.

He was pulled inside and led straight to the bedroom. This time, Peter wasn’t ordering him around, but pulling Stiles’ clothes off as they went. He didn’t know what to do with that.

“What… no bossing me around?” he asked. Somehow every step with Peter felt like unfamiliar territory.

The man pushed him down to the bed and slipped the socks of his feet. 

“Not everything has to be about that. We can do it like that if you want to, but I honestly just want to eat you out and mark you up.”

Stiles groaned. Yeah. Yeah, he could understand that. He was tired too, it had been a long day and he didn’t know if he could take someone stripping his control away.

“Okay, okay, we can do that,” he breathed out, scurrying up the bed. Peter was right behind him, throwing his clothes off and climbing up the bed, like a predator stalking his prey.

Stiles laid back, whole body thrumming with excitement as Peter loomed over him, blanketing him. He didn’t think he ever even saw him naked, and damn, it was a sight for sore eyes. 

“Can you put your hands on the headboard, beautiful?” he asked, making Stiles raise an eyebrow.

“I thought you said there would be no funny business.”

Peter grinned.

“There is  _ always  _ funny business, I’m just asking nicely,” he said, ducking down and kissing Stiles’ neck.

Well. He could work with that.

Stiles grabbed into the wood above him and licked his lips, watching through half lidded eyes as Peter looked him over. 

“Have I told you how pretty you are?” the man asked, and the honesty in his voice made Stiles flush. Peter smiled and kissed his cheek, where it burned with his blush. “I think that’s a no. We will have to rectify that.”

His hands were warm as he caressed Stiles’ body; his sides, his belly, his thighs. Mapping him out. It was a bit disconcerting. Oh, Stiles knew he wasn’t exactly ugly - otherwise he would be out of a job - but most people only saw a pair of nice eyes and a cock-sucking mouth. He was never met with this kind of… reverence before.

“I want to mark you up,” Peter told him, blue eyes burning a hole into Stiles’. He nodded, unable to speak. They would be gone soon enough, and he sort of liked the idea of wearing them.

He was thankful that Peter didn’t force a verbal admission out of him this time. This was different. As strange and new as all their sexual interactions had been, this was something else. Just as intimate, but… different.

Peter fell on him like a starving man, sucking and biting along Stiles’ neck, licking over his pulse while his fingers pressed bruises into his skin. His cock was hard. Both of them were, but there was no urgency, just bit off moans and sharp breaths as Peter worked on him, like he wanted to taste every single inch of him.

And Stiles? Stiles was okay with that.

***

He woke up sometime before dawn, just laying in bed for a long moment and listening to Peter breathe beside him. He was hurting all over, but it was a good feeling - he couldn’t move a muscle without one of Peter’s marks twinging, lighting his skin up.

He went to the bathroom, closing his eyes against the sudden brightness as he switched the lights on and then just stared at the mirror for a moment.

He was covered in a patchwork of bruises and love bites from his neck down to his ass, they were vivid and looked much more painful than they actually were. He knew he should freak out, because there was definitely something possessive about this, something dark that lurked behind Peter’s smiles, but… But a part of him welcomed it.

Yeah, yeah, he was a whore. It was something he chose, not a calling, certainly, but something to pay the bills. He didn’t hate it, but sometimes, when he got back from the streets with the taste of strange men in his mouth and the ache of unfamiliar cocks inside him he wondered if anyone who knew what he was doing would want him.

He would tell himself it didn’t matter, that those who couldn’t accept him the way he was could fuck right off, but in the dark of his room with the lights off and sleep just around the corner it sounded like a lie.

Peter… he didn’t want to change him. He didn’t think so.

Last night, he worshipped Stiles’ body, eating him out before fucking him into the mattress. He’d told him how good he felt, how open and welcoming his hole was after two rounds of fucking by strangers, but it wasn’t a jab. It wasn’t a joke. 

Peter just took it, all the parts he kept hidden, that he thought others would find ugly and said that they were okay.

Stiles touched one of the purple marks on his collarbone. A perfect imprint of Peter’s hungry mouth and pressed his fingers into it until he had to hiss from the pain. It made his cock twitch.

He took a long shower and then went back to bed, Peter opening his arms and pulled him close even though he was still asleep.

***

Peter wasn’t a morning person and mostly communicated in growls before ten o’clock, but could cook surprisingly well. 

He also worked on Sundays, sitting in his office in a pair of pajama bottoms, with his hair askew. It was kind of adorable. Stiles didn’t want to leave, and he knew Peter didn’t want him to, but he was getting twitchy with boredom, so he asked to use the man’s spare laptop.

He sat down in the living room, some infomercial on low and took a deep breath. He’d been putting this off for way too long considering the circumstances, but this was the best place and time to finally get to the bottom of things.

He opened Wikipedia and typed ‘bdsm’ in the search bar.

***

Peter resurfaced around two and ordered pizza, plopping down beside Stiles on the couch.

“Have you been sitting here the whole time?” he asked, which was rich from someone who had been sitting in the office the whole time.

Stiles closed the laptop and looked him at him.

“You can’t beat me,” he blurted out. He’d read up on a lot of things, and he  _ liked  _ a lot of things in theory, but some were… not so cool.

Peter raised an eyebrow and shifted in his seat, turning towards him. It wasn’t anything big, but Stiles still felt relieved. He didn’t want to be brushed off.

“Alright,” Peter said, his eyes intent on him.

“Is that… is that something you like doing?”

The man considered the question for a moment.

“Yes, I do enjoy that, but only with people who also enjoy receiving it.”

Stiles bit his lip. He had no reference point for this. He didn’t know how deep Peter was into this sort of thing, if he would need to sometimes go and beat someone if Stiles didn't want it.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by a hand on his knee.

“Stiles, beautiful, talk to me. I can see that you did quite a bit of thinking, but this needs to be a conversation, okay?”

He huffed. This was so bizarre. 

“So. So I think I would like a lot of the things that… that you might be into. But there are some that are…” he searched for the new expression he just learned. “Hard limits?”

Peter nodded, squeezing his knee.

“Very good. Can you tell me which are those?”

Stiles’ fingers twitched where they were worrying the hem of his shirt.

“Hitting. Or, I guess ‘impact play’ is the official term. And anything with blood,” he added quickly. “I will faint. And throw up. Not necessarily in that order.”

Peter grinned, just a bit, but it was enough to ease some of his nerves.

“Scat.” Because just no. “Sensory deprivation. I mean, it doesn’t sound bad in theory, but I have ADHD and I’m prone to panic attacks, so better not tempt fate with that one.”

“Okay.”

Peter was looking at him expectantly, but that was mostly it. Stiles could feel himself turn red under his gaze.

“Um.”

“That’s it?” Peter didn’t look amused exactly, but it was a close thing. Before Stiles could get defensive, he held up his hand.

“No, no, it’s alright. That’s good, beautiful. Something to work with. But you know you left a lot of doors open,” he said, and sounded almost tentative.

Maybe he hadn’t read up on this enough if Peter was so sure that he left things out.

“What do you mean?” he muttered, looking somewhere over the man’s shoulder.

“Well… Watersports?”

Stiles blushed. His head was going to catch on fire. Peter made a thoughtful little noise, taking his silence as the acknowledgement it was meant to be. Yeah, he was actually kind of curious about that. So what?

“Pet play? Orgasm denial? CBT?”

Stiles’ gaze flickered around, but he couldn’t make himself nod.

“Oh-kay. Fisting we already did, so what about urethra play?”

This time it was his cock that answered, visibly twitching in the loose sweatpants Peter lent to him.

“My, my…” the man said, but he didn’t sound upset. Quite the opposite. He turned Stiles’ head towards him and pressed a kiss to his lips. “You will be a handful.”

***

Stiles was crying again. That seemed to be a thing, and he wasn’t sure he minded. Yeah, he felt kind of self conscious about his ugly sobbing face, but there was something so… liberating about it that he couldn’t mind it.

And he wasn’t sure he could stop, what with Peter doing his thing.

Stiles was tied to the bed, on his back, spread out like a starfish with a pillow under the small of his back so Peter could get at his crotch comfortably.

He hadn’t been sure at first, about the bondage, but as contrary as it sounded, there was a certain type of freedom in being able to thrash and struggle and still be under Peter’s mercy.

His thighs were trembling. It was part anticipation part apprehension. The waiting was almost worse than-

Stiles screamed as Peter twisted his balls again. It hurt so much, the pain cutting through his body and making his toes curl.

Stiles jerked between the thick leather straps holding him down, back arching off the bed.

“That’s it, beautiful. You are taking it so well… You love it, don’t you? When I make your poor little balls hurt?”

Stiles whined and Peter tugged on his sack. A warning.

“Y-yes. Yes, Sir.”

Peter hummed.

“Yes, sir, what?”

Stiles bit his lip hard enough to taste copper. It was humiliating to say it. His cock was leaking.

“Yes, sir, I l-love it when you… ah. When you hurt my b-balls,” he stuttered out.

“Oh? Like this?”

He did it again, this time pinching the thin skin between his fingers. They felt bruised and burning and the warmth of the pain was radiating out, heating up his blood.

Stiles wasn’t getting enough air. His lungs were hurting from crying and screaming and chasing his breath but never managing to catch it.

“Enough. Enough, please, Sir!”

Sir tutted, caressing his balls with the pad of his thumb. Even that was almost too much.

“It’s amazing, how you can stay hard through all that. I think I’m going to buy one of those ball crushers, you know… the ones with two plexi plates screwed together. Would you like that?”

Stiles’ chest heaved. He saw one of those, in his research.

“Yeah, yes. Yes, sir.” It was almost easy to admit it.

“I thought so.” He stroked Stiles’ thigh, gentling the twitch of his muscles. “Alright, my dear boy. I’m going to start pulling on your balls, and I won’t let go until you come, understood?”

Stiles wheezed. He couldn’t come from just that. He couldn’t.

“Of course you can,” Sir said, gripping his balls and squeezing as he started to pull. The pain was intensifying. He couldn’t even scream anymore, his vision whiting out as his cock jerked in vain against his belly. It was too much. Too much.

Sir was saying something, but Stiles couldn’t hear him, his whole being swept up in pain that buzzed through his veins, up and down his spine, collecting in the pit of his stomach…

Sir pulled and pulled and pulled and when he  _ twisted…  _ Stiles came on a silent cry.

***

Peter took Stiles to school Monday morning. They wanted to take the Harley at first, but to be honest, Stiles wasn’t up to straddling anything anytime soon. Simply sitting was enough of a problem as it was.

The Porsche roared into the campus parking lot, making heads turn left and right, and Stiles felt an almost ugly sense of satisfaction knowing that everyone was envying him in that moment.

He spotted Scott just as he was getting out and waved at him. Scott didn’t come over, apparently too dumbstruck to move.

Stiles expected Peter to just leave, but the man got out. He had sunglasses on and a dark, sharply cut suit. 

He kind of looked like a mob boss. 

The man came over to his side and pressed him up against the car, kissing him for a long moment. Just enough to cause an unfortunate situation in his pants. The fucker.

Stiles still smiled when they broke apart, a bit dazed as Peter got back in the Porsche and drove away.

He was still staring after him when Scott jogged over.

“ _ Dude _ . Dude, who was that?” he asked, eyes wide and mouth hanging open.

For a second Stiles didn’t know what to say, then shrugged.

“My boyfriend.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love!
> 
> You can find me at udunie.tumblr.com!


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